


the only stars in the sky

by tameable



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Edgeplay, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Not Beta Read, Oral Sex, Outdoor Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Romance, Stargazing, Sticky Sexual Interfacing, also just a lil bit, and having a good time, im soft, just a lil bit, listen theyre just in love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-04
Updated: 2019-12-04
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:01:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21668650
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tameable/pseuds/tameable
Summary: Jazz and Prowl go stargazing and have a better time than they originally anticipated.
Relationships: Jazz/Prowl
Comments: 10
Kudos: 80





	the only stars in the sky

**Author's Note:**

> im gonna keep these short because its very late
> 
> wrote this for my birthday, never written smut before, not beta read, etc etc. if there are any typos please tell me so i can fix em!! without further ado, please enjoy (งツ)ว

Jazz’s servo is warm where it rests in Prowl’s. He’s being tugged along in what appears to be no particular direction, all on the promise that Jazz has a surprise in store. What sort of surprise is happening so far out of the city as the solar cycle nears midnight, Prowl doesn’t know. The stretch of the forest he’s being lead around in could be hiding anything. 

“Just this way,” Jazz says with a tilt of his helm. His excitement is palpable in his EM field, in the way his grip tightens for a klik before loosening.

Jazz spreads his arms wide a few minutes later. Behind him, in the middle of all the woods they’d just trekked through, is a small clearing. It’s big enough for them both and not much else.

“Good place for stargazin’, yeah?” Jazz’s smile is warm as he reaches for Prowl.

Prowl returns the smile, though his own is more subdued. Jazz knows the true depth of his happiness despite the muted reaction. He can feel the fluttering happiness in the way his lover’s chassis trembles with a quiet purr, growing louder. Prowl goes willingly into Jazz’s embrace, then even more willingly into a kiss.

Prowl thinks they need more practice in this. Their relationship is still new enough that Prowl tenses at Jazz’s touch on his face before consciously relaxing. Neither finds they mind needing practice in the slightest, though, especially as those hands slide along Prowl’s jaw to cup his cheek.

He can feel the way Jazz’s lips curve into a smile as Prowl tries to deepen the kiss in his eagerness. It’s a relief that Prowl knows that this smile isn’t mocking him; it’s simply borne of happiness that Prowl wants Jazz enough to push for more. And push he does, his whole frame fitting against Jazz’s front like he was forged to be there. Prowl’s servos come up to rest on top of the ones holding his face with reverence.

Warmth starts to gather between their chests. Prowl pulls back with one last nip to Jazz’s lips, satisfied at the way Jazz moans in response, trying to follow Prowl’s mouth for a taste of more. Prowl hums and runs his servos along Jazz’s arms, smoothing over his neck. He flashes a grin and hooks his pede around Jazz’s. They wobble. Prowl unbalances them all the way. 

There’s a laugh of pure delight in Jazz’s vocalizer as they hit the ground in a tangle of limbs. “Should’ve seen that one comin’,” Jazz says. Prowl lets out an uncharacteristic chirp, propping himself on an elbow to look down at the handsome mech now beside and below him.

“Maybe you should have,” he replies, tone teasing. There’s a flash of hesitation in his field that disappears as quickly as it had come. He swings a leg up and over Jazz’s waist to straddle him. “I thought you were one to expect the unexpected?”

Jazz goes sharp around the edges in a way that Prowl can’t pinpoint. Cooling fans start up in response. One servo darts up to Prowl’s jaw again to tug Prowl’s face towards his own, while the other curls around Prowl’s hip. “Honey, not even you can expect everythin’,” he hums, stealing another kiss.

Prowl gasps as Jazz bucks up, grinding against his interface cover. He nearly unseats himself in shock, worsened by the jolt of heat that bursts in his tanks. Jazz seizes the excuse to bend Prowl close and pin him to his chest. Like this, Prowl has to lower himself to his elbows, frame arching. The servo on his hip slides appreciatively over the curve of his back. Prowl practically melts. His gratified sigh fans across Jazz’s face.

This is one of the better nights they’ve shared together in a while, not that they’d had too many official nights together as a pair. They’ve known each other for vorns, far before getting bonded. It’s inevitable, the way they’ve drawn together over time or the way Prowl’s joints feel like plasticine in the face of Jazz’s ministrations. It’s all the better for the grass cushioning them and the moon shining over everything from far above.

His lover really knows how to please him.

Jazz’s mouth wanders, tracing the plating of Prowl’s cheeks and down to his jaw, then lower still to leave a trail of kisses along Prowl’s throat. It allows Jazz to feel as well as hear the yelp from his lover as he strokes a servo over Prowl’s aft.

“Jazz!” Prowl squirms, sensors at max sensitivity. Somehow, he can’t remember when he’d turned them up that far. Or maybe Jazz had incited that involuntary reaction all on his own.

Distracted as he is, he can’t find the setting to turn them down.

“Yeah, Prowler?” Oh, Prowl loves his voice, but that tone is going to drive him insane. It’s the kind of tone that says Jazz wants to be difficult, that he’s going to make Prowl work for whatever he’s offering.

Well, two can play at that game.

Prowl bites his lip to stop himself from keening as he grinds down against Jazz’s hips, leaving them both revving hard. It’s a struggle to tear himself away and stand up after. Determination sees him through. His legs are cold without Jazz between them, but it gratifies Prowl to see his lover charged yet unsatisfied. The other mech lays in the grass for a moment as his whirring processor tries to keep up with what just happened.

“We are supposed to be stargazing, Jazz. I’d hate to waste such a beautiful night,” Prowl says. If his vocalizer shakes as he says it, Jazz doesn’t deign to call him out on it.

A moment passes as Jazz gathers himself, shaking his helm and dismissing the ping to pop his panels. Prowl could be a tease when he wanted to be. He takes Prowl’s proffered servo to help himself up and allows blades of grass to fall out of his seams.

“Right,” Jazz muses, “Stargazing. That’s what you wanted to do.”

“Exactly. Nothing else.”

“Not even-”

“No, especially not you.”

Jazz snickers. “Sure, Prowler, but I’ve gotta let you in on a li’l secret.”

Prowl’s optics narrow behind his visor, but he leans in to listen anyway.

Jazz’s voice goes low. It feels like it resonates in Prowl’s spark as he whispers in Prowl’s audial, “I’ve been stargazing this whole time.” He leans even closer, reaching up to lift Prowl’s visor off his face. Prowl allows it and his spark spins faster as Jazz rests their forehelms together.

“My star,” he says.

Prowl blinks. His frame starts to shake, small tremors that turn into peals of laughter. “I should have known you were going to say something so cliché.” Jazz hopes the starlight isn’t enough to show the blush on his face. Primus, Prowl is beautiful when he laughs. 

“Hey!” Jazz exclaims in mock offense, still blushing. “You love my lines.” 

“Not so much the lines themselves as the mech who says them.” He stiffens, realizing what he’d just said. But it’s true.

And yet putting it out there makes Prowl feel exposed. He wishes he had his visor. A look at his sweetspark’s face swiftly quashes that desire, though. Jazz has gone bright at Prowl’s response, his EM field flooding with joy he clearly intends to share.

This time, it’s Jazz that drags them to the ground. Prowl flows easily with the pull on his servo to settle squarely on his back, grass cool beneath him. He props himself on his elbows to watch as Jazz inserts himself between Prowl’s thighs.

Prowl decidedly does not whimper at the sight, even as it makes lubricant gather behind his panels. Jazz is quick to drag his digits over Prowl’s sides, his hips, his thighs, barely light enough not to leave paint transfers. 

His visor is taken off. Prowl stares and a tremble starts up in his legs. The visor is carelessly thrown somewhere next to them, lost to their attention. Prowl has to stop looking between his legs when Jazz flicks his glossa over the arrow on Prowl’s slim waist, following it where it points– down.

It earns Jazz more muffled noises as Prowl’s mouth falls open. Cooling fans struggle to keep up. Jazz grows bolder, trailing reverent touches from Prowl’s knees all the way to the juncture between hip and thigh.

Prowl jerks as Jazz’s thumbs trace the seam of his interface cover and lubricant seeps out to wet those heated digits. Already so charged and they’d barely started. 

“Feelin’ good there, Prowler?” His voice is warm, ghosting breath on Prowl’s waist, and denotes a pleasure pulsing in his core. 

A hard vent. “Fine, thank you.” Primus, if he looks now, he’ll bare his interface array without thinking and cut Jazz’s teasing short. 

“Just fine?” Those digits leave a slick trail down Prowl’s panel, right over his valve. There’s a hard rev in response. “Lemme fix that. C’mon, sweetspark.” He digs his digits in a bit more. “Open up.”

And Prowl does, helpless to the command. So much for the teasing. 

With the slide away of his panels comes Prowl’s spike, pressurizing into Jazz’s waiting servo, as well as a rush of lubricant from his valve. It drips steadily to coat his inner thighs all the way down to his aft. Jazz hums appreciatively right at the base of Prowl’s spike and a thumb comes up to circle the rim of his valve. Sensors light up, joined by new heat pooling in his tanks and the answering drip of lubricant. 

Trying to twitch into Jazz’s touch does nothing but make him pull away with a smirk. Prowl groans _._ His hips can hardly stay still, looking for more, the calipers of his valve clenching around nothing. 

“Jazz.” Prowl’s vocalizer cracks into static around his designation.

His smile curls against Prowl’s hip. “Yeah, darlin’?” he asks, and oh, _Primus._ That’s not so much a question as it is an excuse to let his vocalizer hum and send brief vibrations into Prowl’s plating. Jazz draws comforting circles as he waits for his lover to form a sentence, currently preoccupied with holding off a premature overload.

It should be too soon for this. Prowl’s not completely without experience, after all, and is no stranger to self-service either. Something about Jazz makes every action feel sweeter, hit harder. Neither of them can get enough. 

The struts of his hips, fraught with tension, go slack as Jazz lightens his touch, and the edge of overload leaves with it. 

“Get on with it,” Prowl tries. It comes off more desperate than he had been aiming for. 

Jazz full-on laughs at that, not deigning to respond with words. Prowl would kick him in frustration if he weren’t hopelessly charmed by it.

Any thought of kicking Jazz is quickly forgotten as said mech drops a kiss to the base of Prowl’s spike. 

Only Jazz’s servo, firmly planted on his hip, keeps Prowl from moving as he gasps. Another gush of lubricant from Prowl’s valve is swept up by Jazz’s digits as he finally licks a hot stripe up the side of Prowl’s length. Charge builds, just enough to crackle like fire under his plating. Jazz seems pleased with the reaction– pleased enough to slide his panels aside and let his own spike pressurize with a click. 

Prowl moans at the sound, then moans louder as Jazz wraps his mouth around his spike and sinks down. He’s thankful for that servo on his hip now. 

His helm falls back and he thrusts on instinct into that wet warmth. More charge pools in his tanks and leaves him biting his lip and tearing up the grass beneath him as he tries to stall his finish. Too sensitive, too much. Prowl tries to find his sensitivity settings again to no avail. He’s grateful that Jazz likes how sensitive he is.

Jazz has none of the same reservations regarding holding off overload, though. His mouth provides the friction that Prowl’s frame had been begging for and Jazz knows it. Smug satisfaction fills his EM field and that wonderful suction increases, dragging up Prowl’s spike, his glossa swirling around the head and dipping into the slit. 

Another aborted thrust at the feeling on Prowl’s part answers it. He can’t keep still anymore. Or quiet, for that matter. Charge races along his wires and Jazz pulls off with a pop, running his glossa over his lower lip and wiping the oral lubricant away with the back of his servo.

Prowl whines, valve forming a puddle below him as his spike leaks. He feels horribly, awfully _empty_ , made worse with the knowledge that Jazz could easily fill him up and soothe that ache. But he knows Jazz– knows that he likes to drag things out and make Prowl desperate. He’s still trying to decide whether that unfortunate or not.

Jazz waits patiently for Prowl to come back from the edge of overload once again, his presence an affectionate balm to the fever pitch of heat they’re generating. Idle kisses are pressed along hip struts, nowhere near close enough to where Prowl wants them to be satisfied.

A servo trails up, up, up to dance around Prowl’s windshield, mapping the edges of his headlights. Jazz slows down with dangerous intent. Not enough to ramp him up, yet too much to let him settle completely. It takes several minutes for Prowl to relax into the touches as his cooling fans catch up. 

Only to ratchet back onto their highest setting as Jazz sweeps his thumbs from the edges of Prowl’s hips inward. _Far_ inward, brushing sensors, almost enough to sate. 

“ _Jazz_ ,” Prowl growls.

Jazz huffs. His thumbs draw away as he follows an invisible trail up Prowl’s frame, glossa flicking out to taste. Delight curves his mouth up at the corners as he comes to a stop above Prowl.

“Yeah, handsome? Tell me what ya what.” Face-to-face like this, Prowl blushes. It’s almost too much. Almost too intimate. He traces the pleasing lines of Jazz’s faceplates. His optics are a brilliant blue.

Prowl’s servos unclench so he can reach for Jazz and draw him in by the shoulders for a kiss. Their optics sweep closed, languid and trusting. Both of them groan into it.

Jazz wastes no time in deepening the kiss with a hint of his own desperation. Prowl grinds against an aborted thrust against his hip, sliding his glossa along Jazz’s and feeling out the shape of his mouth. It’s pleasurable, but ultimately not enough. 

One of Prowl’s servos tangles with Jazz’s, pulling it down his frame to rest right between thigh and pelvic assembly. Jazz smiles into Prowl’s mouth, pleased to have Prowl being more forward with what he wants, and doubles back into the kiss. Prowl’s gasps are lost in the roaring of their fans. The anticipation of Jazz’s spike is going to drive him out of his processor at this rate.

Jazz picks up on it. He encourages Prowl’s legs a little wider with light touches at the edge of his valve, still not where Prowl needs him but close enough to promise more soon.

Prowl shifts and bucks up. It doesn’t earn him much, but Jazz revs and breaks their kiss to nuzzle into his lover’s neck. Prowl obligingly tilts his helm for him with a sigh.

It turns into a moan they share in as he feels the press of Jazz’s digits through another gush of lubricant. Those digits part the lips of his valve and press insistently at the rim, thumb rolling over Prowl’s gold anterior node, easy to find among black mesh and blue biolights. Prowl bites off a scream and jerks as the pressure increases. He nearly knees Jazz with it.

Dentae nip at his neck in retribution, just enough to dent plating. Prowl can feel Jazz panting against the sensors there. It makes his struts go lax and the calipers in his valve loosen up with the closeness of his lover. 

Jazz, digits still tracing a maddening circle around the rim of Prowl’s valve, takes notice. He rolls his thumb over Prowl’s anterior node again as he slips a digit into his valve. 

Prowl can’t choke off his scream this time, arching into that delicious pressure inside of him as charge bursts across his plating. He shakes with the force of his overload, Jazz gentling him through it, Prowl’s valve squeezing around his digit. Whatever Earth fauna had been nearby had surely run off now, if they hadn’t before.

Servos tighten where they’re looped around Jazz. He’s still panting as Jazz grows hesitant to continue, all too aware of the over-sensitivity Prowl must be experiencing. Prowl knows they both still want the same thing, though. There’s no way Jazz is getting away before spiking Prowl. 

Expectations won’t fulfill themselves. 

Prowl slides a leg up to better be able to hold it out, exposing himself as much as he can without flipping onto his stomach and presenting himself on all fours. Jazz takes the hint.

There’s a certain sort of sweetness that comes with being able to look Jazz in the optic as he starts to pump his digit slowly. Both of them sigh into it. It’s a tender sort of torture. 

Prowl reaches between them, one servo still locked on his lover’s shoulder. The other servo takes Jazz’s and stops his movement. Confusion seeps into his EM field until Prowl pointedly arranges Jazz’s servo, two digits held out.

The confusion clears. “You could just ask,” Jazz murmurs, low and amused, and dutifully presses back into Prowl’s slick heat with the extra digit. There’s an actual stretch now, calipers cycling down around the intrusion. Arousal warms the air between them and lubricant spills to coat Jazz’s entire servo as he works to relax Prowl’s valve. Those digits push in and out with no rush on Jazz’s part, even as Prowl scrabbles at his shoulders and scratches his paint. He scissors them open and Prowl gasps open-mouthed. 

Jazz laughs, half-moaning. He adds another digit without prompting. Prowl’s response is immediate, frame arching and valve fluttering. 

He adores the sounds Prowl makes when being fingered, likes it even more when his voice goes up an octave as Jazz rubs at all the sensors he can reach. He drags all three digits almost all the way out as slow as he can get away with. As he pushes back in, he spreads them minutely and presses against each sensor. They light up as digits drag across them. There are more sensors buried deep, and Prowl’s ceiling node is just beyond them. 

Jazz avoids his node for the time being. Prowl is already close again with Jazz pushing against such sensitive components– Jazz can wait if it means he gets to feel Prowl overload around his spike. Prowl tries to get a handle on his heavy venting. He _wants._

And who is Jazz to keep it from him?

Ignoring Prowl’s whine as he eases his digits out, dripping with lubricant, Jazz presses his spike more insistently against Prowl’s hip. There’s a scrabble against Jazz’s armor as Prowl latches on. Jazz is sure that there’s going to be white paint marking the black and gold beauty of his lover.

“Ready?” Jazz asks warmly, servo guiding his spike to Prowl’s rim. Prowl reaches down his own servo to help as he nods frantically. 

“More than ready. Please, _please._ ”

Jazz kisses against Prowl’s neck. “Gotta be clearer than that, love.”

“Jazz,” Prowl whines. It sets Jazz’s neural net buzzing like nothing else. “Please, I-“ Prowl pants in Jazz’s audial- “I need you. Need you inside me. Frag me, _please,_ want your spike to split me open, want you to fill me with transfluid until I can’t even- _ah!_ ”

He screams, arching into Jazz as his spike nudges past the tight ring of metalmesh. That wonderful spike keeps going, sinking into Prowl’s valve all the way to the hilt. Prowl shifts his hips, adjusting to the new pressure stretching him open. His calipers cycle down, not allowed to return to their usual settings. Jazz growls deep in his engine. 

Prowl clings to Jazz as he pulls out almost all the way. Just the head of his spike rests inside his valve until he thrusts back in, hard and deep. It makes Prowl shiver as all the sensors Jazz had avoided are suddenly, insistently struck. 

“Yes!” Prowl gasps. “Please, more, more- deeper- like that!” 

Jazz relishes the clutch of Prowl’s valve around his spike. He drags out slowly now, drawing this out, and hikes Prowl’s legs further up. Flexibility is useful, it turns out. One pede is thrown over Jazz’s shoulder, the other sliding into the crook of his arm.

Jazz watches as Prowl’s optics light up with the now slow push of his spike and hums. Experimentally, he shoves in hard again, hitting Prowl’s ceiling node. 

Prowl shrieks again as his servos spasm where they’re wrapped around Jazz’s neck. He chuckles, breathless. 

“Not fair,” Prowl eeks out. The spike pressing into his valve has slowed again. Urging Jazz on with encouraging rolls of his frame earns another hard thrust that he’s left gasping in the wake of. The slide of his spike is maddening. 

“Yeah? How’s it not fair?”

Prowl tries to gather the scattered bits of his processor. Charge snaps across his plating, the coil in his tanks about to snap. It’s become difficult to focus on anything besides the overload he’s teetering on the edge of.

“Because you won’t give me what I want,” Prowl manages. “I’ve asked, I’ve begged, and you still-“ he muffles the scream from another hard thrust, optics wide- “you still won’t let me overload.”

Jazz keeps his languid pace for another few kliks, considering. He comes to a decision and kisses the edge of Prowl’s open mouth.

Vents heave. “Let me fix that, then,” he says, and finally, _blessedly_ picks up the pace.

Prowl writhes as Jazz bucks into him hard, again and again. He tries to muffle more embarrassing shouts with a servo that Jazz swiftly pins to the grass above them. They’re close, fevered and frantic in their movements now.

It’s too much. Prowl buries his faceplates against his arm, listening to the slick squelch of Jazz’s spike burying itself into his valve, over and over. Jazz reaches down with the servo not pinning Prowl’s, thrusts growing erratic. A thumb sweeps over Prowl’s anterior node. 

Prowl arches with a final cry of Jazz’s designation, valve clenching around Jazz’s thrusting spike and gushing an excess of lubricant. Charge crackles and whites out his optics as it races like fire through his wires. The lubricant aids the slick noises between them as Prowl’s valve clenches weakly in the aftershocks of overload. 

Jazz loses what little rhythm he had left as he follows Prowl into overload with his own groan of his lover’s designation. Prowl twitches as he feels a wet warmth flood his valve. He relaxes, finally satisfied as Jazz gives a few final thrusts, milking his climax. The snap of blue lightning across Jazz’s frame shocks Prowl’s plating, similar to a tingling sensation. Pleasant and reassuring.

They lie there for a few long moments to bask in the afterglow. Vents slow, frames cool, and Jazz and Prowl are left slightly sticky and uncomfortable.

Jazz smacks a kiss to Prowl’s cheek, who is too content to hide his quiet giggle at it, then grimaces as Jazz carefully extricates himself.

“You alright, sweetspark?” Jazz’s servos are gentle where they cradle Prowl’s thighs, sliding up to massage the tension out of Prowl’s hip struts.

“I will be,” Prowl says lightly and still just a tad out of breath. “If you’d care to do the honors?” A polishing rag appears in his servo from his subspace. It hits Jazz in the face and lands in his lap.

Jazz laughs, wiping himself down quickly. With Prowl, he takes extra care to pull his lover up by the servo and rest Prowl’s helm against his chassis. The rag is slow and methodical as it cleans up Prowl’s frame. Jazz nuzzles his helm when he’s done and Prowl hums, shifting to shove him back down by the shoulders.

The chassis under his palms is warm, the spark encased within tugging at Prowl’s own. That can wait for later, though. Still…

“I don’t believe we’re done here, Jazz.”

Jazz looks up at him, bare-faced and adoring. Something lightens in Prowl’s spark at the suggestive, _delighted_ way Jazz asks, “Oh?”

“You mentioned we were here to stargaze.”

He blinks, caught off guard, and then remembers. His EM bursts into a bright euphoria that drags Prowl in. He flops next to Jazz and lets their servos tangle together.

They’re still gazing at each other when Jazz whispers, low at the edge of Prowl’s audio range, “Yeah, Prowler. Stargazin’ sounds real nice.” Their servos squeeze and grip tight. “Even better with you.”

Prowl’s frame angles itself toward Jazz, curling close. Actions have always said more than words for him.

Prowl points out a constellation first with its Earth designation. Jazz answers with the Cybertronian designation, elbowing him in the side. They take turns like that, content to point out and sometimes make up new stars until the sun starts to rise.

**Author's Note:**

> ty for reading, if you did ✧٩(•́⌄•́๑)و ✧
> 
> if you please, you can find me at barbieprime over on tumblr!


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